A Plea for Presence
by Michelle Katz
Our nation sits with another very familiar tragedy this week. I have written too many articles on mass and school shootings. There is a part of me that is resistant and in disbelieve that here I am writing about this yet again. A pandemic, an unnecessary war in Ukraine, wildfires, and still young people are taking guns into schools. It is all too much. CNN reports at least 213 mass shooting for this year alone, that is more than the 144 days of 2022! I think it’s most alarming to know the reality that every young person in our nation no longer feels safe to go to school to get an education and teachers, whose jobs are important beyond measure, risk their lives every day to bring kid the heart and passion of learning. My heart is breaking.
Einstein, the man who helped the world break through some of the barriers of understanding the physical world and the universe, said, “the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.” So, what are we doing? Is it about time we break through the barrier of how we are making sense of mass shootings? I recall the American Dream that brought my parents to this country in 1979 from Ukraine, the dream of a better life, the dream for young, fresh, new and revolutionary ideas, for being the model for what others strive to be. We are not what we once aimed to be, what the vision of this country feels blurred. Let us hear the voices of the young people, they are screaming out for something better and my heart is breaking.
A few weeks back I posted a video about asking the question, “what breaks your heart?” to help us get to know our purpose in the world. Does this tragedy and others like it not break everyone’s heart? What is stopping us from making drastic and real changes? We need to love our children more than our guns in this country! My heart is breaking.
As an advocate for social emotional learning and mental health in schools and for young people overall, these tragedies propel me into a trauma response. If it’s doing that to me, it’s 100 times more traumatic for young people. My colleagues and I turn to each other in the aftermath of every school shooting, retraumatized and recognizing that one after another we grow more numb. Because of trauma overload, because of helplessness, because of the need to preserve our psyche. My heart is breaking.
Today, I stepped outside. I sat at my sit spot on a hill between two living and two dead juniper trees and wept. I gave myself time to feel. I looked among the living and dead around me, beyond just where I sat, outward to the hills outstretched in every direction. Who gets to decided who lives and dies? What can we do to help those still living? How do we stop this? How do we speak for those who are most vulnerable? How can I be of service to heal our world so that this is not a daily headline? My heart is breaking.
I worry that we have all grown numb to these events. I understand it is a method of coping, I can honor that. But I plea to everyone to take the time to sit with it, to feel this enormous and persistent loss of young life. To recognize that parents are not meant to bury their children. Take time to honor who those children are, to let them be remembered and live on through your tears. May those tears move us, lift our boat from where is sits, stuck in the sand, to a new place that promises that these events won’t happen again. My heart is breaking.
Every generation born to this world is meant to create change, to bring new ideas that lead to our evolution as human beings, but this cannot happen if we don’t hear their voices, recognize their needs or give them a chance to grown up into healthy purposeful adults. This cannot happen if we look the other way when a young person feels hatred, anger or exhibits mental illness, because we are too uncomfortable to deal with it. This cannot happen if guns are allowed to be purchased so easily on someone’s 18th birthday. I plea that we all feel this heart break. And that we act on what we can do. We are not doing enough, and we have far more power to do more than simply send thoughts and prays. My heart is breaking.
I stepped down from my hilltop seat, came home and read about those who have fallen. First the shooter, curious about warning signs, about what was missed, what would have stopped his trajectory toward such callous reckless violence. Then I read about the teachers and the 9- and 10-year-olds. How they sung and played and made the people who knew them smile. I plea with you, don’t go numb, be present to all that arises in you at this time. This may be our only hope for change. I cry, I worry, I grow angry and impatient, I bargain and grieve. My heart is broken.